


What If....in Paradise

by left_to_write



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3817663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_to_write/pseuds/left_to_write
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of little cameos, imagining what might have happened between Richard and Camille if things had gone a bit differently in some of the episodes where they appeared to be getting close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'In the Wake of Solly'

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try and devote a separate Chapter to each scene's imagined (and wished for) outcome. I'll be taking them in order, although they don't follow on from each other in terms of alternative storyline. Each Chapter stands alone and, in my view, hints at what missed opportunities there were.
> 
>    
> Not an entirely original concept, perhaps, but I hope to provide some light fluffy fun for those who like that sort of thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is based on Episode 7 of Series 1.

 

"You know, you dance rather well, in spite of saying you don't do it," Camille told Richard with a broad smile and a tone of mildly teasing reproof. As far as she was concerned, anyone who could make a woman feel like _that_ when he held her in time to music certainly knew at least some of the right 'moves'.

"What?" he virtually shouted in her ear. The music at Solly's wake had just got louder and faster and he was struggling to hear what anyone might be saying.

"I said, 'you dance rather well'," repeated Camille. She wasn't fully convinced that he hadn't heard her; she suspected he had most likely gone all shy and reserved again and was trying to cover it up.

In truth, Richard _was_ trying to cover something up, but it wasn't his reaction to the compliment that Camille had just paid him. It was the rising feeling of intense pleasure - both physical and emotional - that sustained proximity to the inexhaustible charms of his beautiful, clever, maddening, impulsive, irrepressible half-French Sergeant was having on him.

In the months that he had worked alongside Camille Bordey, he had found her to be both infuriating and bewitching, an almost irresistible combination, as he began to realise with increasing excitement and trepidation that not only had she been getting under his skin but, indeed, her effect on his very psyche was growing by the day - no, make that by the minute.

And here she was, pressing ever so gently against him and apparently whispering - well, not exactly whispering, it was much too loud for that - sweet nothings in his ear. Despite the change in tempo, Richard continued to keep his arm around Camille, one hand resting nearly on the side of her perfect derriere, both of which facts amused her.

"I think we're meant to dance a bit faster now," she explained, but was nevertheless in no hurry to break the physical contact between them.

"Oh dear, I can't do all that fast gyrating stuff," Richard replied with a bit of a worried frown. "That's just not me at all."

Camille understood; it was true, he may have got a good ear for music (even the loud modern 'heavy' kind), but that didn't mean he was into bopping or boogying. Salsa and Zouk were obviously out (!), but she couldn't even imagine him waltzing or doing the Polka for that matter.

Suddenly she had an idea.

"Why don't we go back to your little house and we can sit on the beach and watch the pretty lights in the distance?" she suggested.

_And make wild, passionate love in the surf...._

"What?? Now?" asked a slightly shocked Richard.

Camille was not about to give up. "Yes, I mean you're obviously finding it too noisy here. I'll supply the beer, how about that? Or the tea?" she added as an afterthought, just in case he was in one of his _English_ moods.

Richard screwed up his face, his eyebrows knitting together as he considered her suggestion.

 _Was she merely making a suggestion?_ he wondered. _Or was she actually being suggestive?_ Typical Inspector Poole, the fancy simultaneously attracted and repelled him.

Camille had a pretty good idea what he was thinking and put on her best innocent-yet-enticing doe-eyed look, enhancing it with a smile sweet enough to soften concrete.

Richard knew when he was beaten. Well, after all, hadn't they just caught another murderer? Surely that was a good reason for celebrating? And Camille had been really getting under his skin lately.......

"Come on then," he said with a sardonic smile, "but you had better make good tea. And I am not sitting on the sand."

Camille rewarded him with one of her dazzling smiles and then quickly looked around for Dwayne and Fidel. Dwayne had been watching the pair of them and she knew she was going to have to come up with a pretty good excuse for leaving with their boss if she didn't want Dwayne to suspect anything.

Making her way over to him, Camille said as earnestly as she could, "I'm just going to take the Chief home. He's not very happy here, I don't think he's feeling too well."

Dwayne nodded knowingly, but inwardly thought that for someone who wasn't feeling too well, the Inspector had been exchanging some rather interesting smiles with his glamorous Sergeant.

 

The journey back to the beach house was fairly quiet, certainly by Camille's standards. Not wanting to spoil the moment - or what she hoped would become the moment - she drove uncharacteristically sedately, careful to miss the potholes in the road. The last thing she wanted to do was to put Richard in a bad mood before they even reached his house and ruin any chances of loosening him up.

Richard was contemplating the invitation to which he had just acceded. It was undoubtedly a bit thrilling to be alone with Camille in these circumstances but, as far as Richard was concerned, slightly dangerous too. He had no illusions about her considerable charms, nor about her ability at times to get away with far more with him than was quite proper; and certainly more than practically anyone else ever had.

What he was not sure of was the state or strength of his own resolve.

Being emotionally insecure, Richard also wondered whether Camille had any tender feelings towards him. She clearly liked him, he didn't doubt that, but might she perhaps try and seduce him for the fun of seeing an uptight Englishman crumble and lose his self-control? Or did she genuinely care for him?

Such musings were dangerous territory as well, because they brought into focus _his_ feelings for Camille. After a heart-breaking and humiliating experience with a girl he had loved many years before, Richard had constructed - and then buried his emotions very deeply within - a well nigh impenetrable shell. Contrary to what some people may have thought, he was not a cold or unfeeling person; he was a wounded person and he had no desire to re-live the pain of those university days.

As the Defender pulled up outside his shack, Camille opened her door, pulled out the bottles of beer she had wangled from her Maman at La Kaz, and skipped round to the passenger side to open the door for Richard.

"Thank you," he said with surprising diffidence.

Camille could see that she would have to tread very carefully. _I promise I'll be gentle,_ she thought to herself.

 

"Are you really going to make the tea?" Richard asked, a little incredulously, as they walked through the front door into his beach house.

"Yes, of course, that's what I promised. Why?" answered Camille, somewhat baffled. "Are you afraid I won't do it properly? You like Maman's tea alright, don't you?"

Richard had to admit that he did; considering Camille's mother was French, it had come as a pleasant surprise to him that she actually made the best tea on the island. Not quite what he'd had in England, of course, but not bad, all things considered.

"Well, I do it the same way she does." Camille was getting a trice defensive.

"I just thought that as you are the guest here, I should probably be the one to get the drinks ready, that's all," explained Richard. He really had no wish to get into a silly and pointless argument with his quick-tempered sidekick.

Camille realised her mistake in the nick of time. If all she managed to do was wind him up in the wrong sort of way now, she'd have no chance of getting him wound up in the right sort of way later. She backed down immediately.

"Yes, sorry, of course. Um...if you prefer, there's still the beer I brought," she apologised.

Richard smiled. "That's sounds like a good idea. If you want to sit on the beach that's okay, but I'm going to get a chair."

"Well...I don't mind sitting on the veranda if you'd rather. We can still see the lights from the wake from here. Aren't they lovely the way they light up in the night sky?"

Camille's smile was doing something funny to Richard's insides. He thought the view from where he was standing was pretty special too. He gratefully received the bottles of beer proffered by Camille and was relieved at the distraction of having to turn away to get the bottle opener from his kitchen drawer.

Opening a couple of bottles for each of them, he led her out onto the veranda and they sat looking out onto the beach.

"Thank you for being a good sport about the dancing," said Camille, opening the conversation.

Richard guffawed a little and replied, "Well, I did tell you I'm not much of a dancer, so if I wasn't any good...."

"No, you were great," insisted Camille. "And the way you held me was just right, you know."

Richard blushed and Camille winced, silently cursing herself for being so forward.

"Actually...I...rather...enjoyed it...." Richard confessed, much to Camille's amazement and delight.

Their eyes made contact and they both looked away somewhat shyly. Richard spoke again first.

"I...um...wanted to thank you for making me feel so welcome on Sainte Marie." Camille raised her eyebrows as Richard continued. 

"I know we didn't hit it off at first and you had to put me in my place a bit..." He looked at Camille with a playful smile as he reminded her how she had threatened to beat him up if he didn't treat her with more respect.

"But you were right to point out that as we would be working together, it was important to make the best of it and not be resentful about it. Sorry I wasn't very gracious to begin with."

"I'm sorry I was so insubordinate," countered Camille. "But you know, since we got over that first hurdle, it's been fine really. You are an inspiring detective, a good and fair boss, and we all feel we've learned a lot from you. I hope you're a little happier here on Sainte Marie now?"

"Yes, I am, thanks to you mainly. You know, that evening when your mother cooked me that delicious roast beef dinner, and all those other people were there too - well, that was the most accepted I've felt anywhere since my days at Cambridge. It's true that I came out here kicking and screaming and asking to be sent back to London, but I think maybe now I've found a place where I will actually belong at last...."

Richard was beginning to wax lyrical; perhaps the beer was loosening his tongue a bit.

Camille's eyes were shining as she studied her boss' face. Something about him was different; his features had softened a little and it occurred to her that he scowled less these days.

She couldn't see the unconscious gleam in her own eyes but he hadn't missed it. He reached out and tenderly brushed his hand against her cheek and said, "Won't you come and sit a bit closer?"

They moved their respective chairs nearer to each other and sat holding hands as they watched the waves crash on the beach in the moonlight.

The stars were out in force in the clear Caribbean sky and it augured well for the rest of that night - and for the future.

 


	2. 'Sand Gets in Your Eyes'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is based on Episode 8 of Series 1.

 

"Ow, ow, ow, help!!"

"What's the matter?!"

"I've got sand in my eye!"

"Hahaha!"

"Stop laughing, I'm dying here!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby!"

Detective Inspector Richard Poole of the Metropolitan Police, London, England had got a grain of sand in his eye and was howling like a baby. He even complained he was dying.

Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey of the Honore Police Force, Sainte Marie, and formerly an undercover agent who had been shot twice in the line of duty and who had three commendations for bravery, thought it was hilarious.

"Oh thank you very much, Camille. You're not the one who's suffering! I have sensitive eyes!" Richard wailed.

"Okay, sorry. Let me take a look." Camille was finally beginning to feel a bit of sympathy for the pasty Englishman with the sensitive eyes and the sensitive skin and the sensitive everything.

"I need to go indoors," moaned Richard.

"Alright, come on. I'll help you," offered Camille with genuine kindness now.

Taking his arm, she led the poor suffering Inspector into his shack where he splashed his face with water until he was sure the sand was completely out of his eyes. Unfortunately, although the sand was now gone from his eyes, it wasn't gone from his clothes, the cause of which was his falling over in his chair and straight onto the sandy beach.

This was now another source of anguish for Richard.

"Oh no, there's sand all over me! It's going to get all over the house, on the floor and everywhere. Arrgh!"

Camille thought she'd try and help him some more, so she dragged him out onto the veranda and started to brush him down with her hands.

"What are you doing?!" he squawked.

"I'm trying to help get the sand off of you, what does it look like?" came the reply.

"But you're touching me," he fussed.

"I'm only trying to help brush the sand off of you. Do you want my help or not?" Camille's patience was beginning to run out.

"I...." he could only muttered something unintelligible.

"Look, why don't you just take your clothes off?"

"Camille!" Richard blushed with embarrassment.

"No, what I meant was, why not get out of the sandy clothes and go and have a shower?"

"With _you_ here?" Richard was all flustered now, not to mention hot and bothered, probably for more reasons than one. He didn't dare think about being naked, and in the shower, and Camille, all in one breath.

"I'm not going to look, for goodness' sake. I just meant that you would be more comfortable if you washed all the sand off and then put on a fresh change of clothing," Camille explained. "And maybe treated yourself to something that's not a suit and tie? You are off duty, after all," she added for good measure.

"Oh, well, maybe you're right," he conceded.

"But I wouldn't mind seeing you in those pyjamas again...." Camille said, with a wicked little giggle.

"Camille..." Richard growled in mock annoyance.

"Okay, just kidding. Sorry."

Richard shook his head and wandered back into the bungalow saying, "Right, make yourself at home, I'll see you in a few minutes," and muttering something that sounded like, "Crazy French woman."

Camille decided to make up for her endless teasing of her unfortunate boss and, finding his broom, swept as much sand as she could find off of his veranda and back onto the beach where it belonged, and then set about making him a pot of tea for when he came back out.

When Richard emerged all showered and changed, he was understandably in a much better mood. Feeling less hot and itchy went a long way towards improving his frame of mind, and Camille could only benefit from his increased comfort level.

"Better?" she asked.

"Mm, much better, thanks," came the reply.

"I've made you some tea," she offered.

"Oh, thanks! That was good of you," he answered with sincere appreciation. He could see that Camille was still drinking her beer, so he took his cup of tea and joined her back on the veranda.

"It's been quite a day, hasn't it?" he continued. He had been debating with himself how much to tell her, so he opened the conversation.

"Yes, it certainly has," agreed Camille with a smile.

"I held a baby today for the first time!" Richard chuckled.

"Ah, wasn't little Rosie absolutely adorable?! And Fidel looked such a proud father!" enthused Camille.

"Trust me to make her sick, though."

"Don't be silly, babies do that all the time. It was nothing to do with you," she reassured him with a gentle laugh.

"I'm sorry about your poor mother losing her new fella, though. That part of the day was not good," sympathised Richard.

"I know. I think she's probably more upset than she is letting on. Although she said they hadn't got any plans for him to move in yet, it was obvious that she was feeling quite serious about him...Well, at least you've saved her from getting involved with a murderer. That would have been unimaginable," she shuddered. "And to think he seemed like such a nice guy," she went on.

"Yeah he did, but you can't always tell, can you? I mean, it's not as if murderers have a sign tattooed on their foreheads saying, 'I'm a killer', is it?" Richard said ruefully, recalling a certain Leon Hamilton and a stabbing right under his nose.

"I wonder if he was planning to rush back to Britain, or somewhere else, perhaps?" mused Camille.

"Um...that kind of brings me to...there's something I probably ought to tell you," Richard started.

"What?" she asked with a frown, beginning to look worried.

"Remember when I offered to buy everyone drinks and I said I had an announcement to make?"

"Oh yes, I'd nearly forgotten after all the excitement. What were you so chirpy about?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well, a couple of hours before we arrested Aidan Miles, the Commissioner came up to me outside the station and insisted I go for a drink with him - he said he was buying, so I knew it must be important. Anyway, we went to La Kaz  (which is where we met Aidan, ironically) and Patterson told me that my Superintendent at the Met had been in touch and, to cut a long story short, if I rang them up within the next two hours, I could have my old job back."

"In London??" Camille was stunned. "Are you going back to London?" She began to well up, but managed to fight back the tears.

Richard was a little nonplussed by her reaction.

"No, no, I didn't get in touch with them in time. The Commissioner deliberately left it until almost the last minute to tell me, even though he'd clearly known about it for much longer, and then in all the chaos of arresting Miles and the excitement of Juliet having the baby, I momentarily forgot. When I did remember again, I couldn't get a signal on my phone and then it was just too late. I timed out."

Camille was unsure what to think. She was relieved that Richard was staying, but downcast at the thought of his having wanted to go.

"So, are you very upset about it?" It was an innocent enough question, but it held a little bit of a challenge as well. After all, apart from the climatic discomfort, Richard finally seemed to have settled in pretty well, and his team had certainly grown fond of him as well as respecting his brilliance as a detective.

"I thought I was - or would be." As he looked at Camille, Richard began to understand why he had not been more distressed to have missed the call deadline. He would not find it easy to admit, but he was falling for his beautiful and feisty Sergeant, and if he had gone back to London, he would have missed her. A lot.

And he would have missed Dwayne and Fidel, and Catherine and Father Charles - and maybe even the wily old Commissioner himself, the boss who had cheated him out of his chance to go home.

_But then maybe Patterson has actually done me a favour and I couldn't see it until now._

Camille was a little perplexed. _Did he just say, 'I thought I would be'?_

"Do you mean you're not sure whether you're upset or not?" she asked out loud.

Richard took a deep breath. "I suppose I mean that while I felt disappointed at that moment when I realised I'd missed the opportunity, I think I was probably more annoyed with the Commissioner on principle for having tricked me."

"Oh, but...even though he obviously should have given you a lot more than two hours' notice, you still had time to make the call, didn't you? I mean, before we went to Maman's and you explained everything and confronted Aidan and all that. Couldn't you have just phoned from the station?"

"Yes, and I started to. But then Fidel said something about a puzzle and suddenly the clues began to fall into place and I guess I got carried away with wanting to follow my train of thought right through until we got our man. I remember thinking I still had enough time. And then it sort of got away from me. Maybe it was meant to...."

The look on her face convinced Richard he was in the right place after all. For, in a brief unguarded moment, Camille Bordey's eyes gave her away. She was in love with her English Inspector - and, wonder of wonders - in one of life's _eureka_ moments, he realised that he loved her in return.

"I'm glad," she said rather hoarsely, with classic understatement.

"So am I now." His voice sounded rather husky too. "Um, do you have any plans for this evening?" he asked.

She smiled and shook her head slowly.

"Would you like to go out and have that celebratory drink I was going to treat you to earlier, only this time I'll be celebrating staying here?" _With you...._

"Um...okay."

Fearing that she thought he was being a bit stingy, he quickly added, "Or we could go out for dinner, anywhere you like. I'd really like to celebrate with you."

"Yes...that would be nice."

Her hesitation made him wonder if he'd been asking the right questions. He amended his invitation.

"Is there anything in particular that you would like to do this evening?"

Camille hesitated slightly, then answered, "Well....what about if we...stayed in...?" She wondered whether she was being too forward and whether or not he would get the hint. And, if so, would he welcome it or be horrified by it?

To her astonishment, he took up the challenge and ran with it. Well, it _had_ been an extraordinary day, after all - and one full of emotional ups and downs.

"Do you mean?....I mean....um... we do still have to eat sometime, don't we....and we could still go out somewhere special, but...if you'd rather....?" Richard raised his eyebrows, and smiled a bit bashfully at her.

Camille's heart gave a little jump. She put her arms around his neck and lifted her face to his.

His arms tightened around her waist and, after a long, lingering kiss, she whispered, "Yes, please. I was afraid you'd never ask." 

 


	3. 'Erzulie, Mon Amour'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is based on Episode 1 of Series 2.

 

"You're late," remarked Catherine, with a slight hint of reproach.

"Yeah, five minutes," replied Camille, with a faint edge of sarcasm and more than a touch of exasperation.

"It creates a bad impression," explained her matchmaking Maman. Studying her gorgeous daughter, who was looking even more radiant than usual in a lovely red dress with flowing tulle skirt, she relented.

"You look beautiful, I'm sure he'll forgive you," she gushed.

"Where is he?" sighed Camille.

"On the patio. Now go and say 'hello'," Catherine insisted.

"Maman, do I really have to do this?" protested her daughter. _After all, I am 31 years old, for pity's sake. Surely I can run my own life?_

Maman, who had spent some time and effort finding a 'suitable' date for her unmarried and childless daughter, was not going to be thwarted now, especially as it was Erzulie week and this, in Catherine's mind, afforded the best prospects of a love match for Camille.

"Yes!" she commanded, twirling her daughter around and giving her a gentle shove in the direction of the terrace.

 Camille walked out onto the patio and stopped in her tracks when she saw Richard Poole reading a book and waiting for her.

_Did he know she was to be his date, or was it a blind date for him too? And what on earth was Maman up to?_

But when he looked up and saw her, he did a double take, presumably because even he had not expected to see her looking so gloriously beautiful.

And then he said those immortal words.

"Camille? Hello - good Lord, you look stunning!"

It was so nearly all over when he asked her if she had time for a cocktail because he thought she had a date. A wave of realisation began to spread over her like a wave of nausea and humiliation, but Fidel, who had come ostensibly to fetch Richard for his babysitting favour, actually saved the day.

"Sorry Sir, but Juliet's mother just turned up unexpectedly as I was about to come and collect you. She wants to babysit her little granddaughter - I hope you don't mind. I'm so sorry you've wasted your time waiting for me - and all for nothing now."

Richard couldn't have been more relieved - partly because he had been very apprehensive about looking after a tiny child (not something in his wealth of experience), but mainly because there was maybe now just the slightest chance that he could spend the evening with Camille after all.

"No problem, Fidel," he answered, trying not to sound _too_ pleased. "Have a good evening."

Then Catherine appeared, determined as ever to enforce the blind date she had arranged.

 _Honestly, it was positively medieval, like those horribly contrived arranged marriages of old,_ thought Richard.

"Haven't you had enough of work for one day? Don't you know it's rude to keep your date waiting?" The tone of reproof in her voice and the look she was giving Richard did not seem to bode well.

However, when Camille looked past Richard to the table where her mother had gestured that the date was still sitting and waiting for her, there was no one there.

She looked at her mother with a puzzled expression, and Catherine frowned. Walking over to the table in question, she was approached by someone else.

"Are you looking for the gentleman that was here?" the person asked her.

"Yes," she replied, "he was seated here a few minutes ago. You don't know where he is now, do you?" she pleaded, trying to keep a slight sense of panic out of her voice.

"He had to go. He asked me to apologise because he got paged unexpectedly and had to rush off as there was an emergency at his hospital. He asked me to say 'sorry', because he was in a hurry and he couldn't see you to tell you himself."

Catherine let out a groan of disappointment. She had thought that a doctor would be such a good catch for her daughter who only seemed to have eyes for the Englishman, and a mind for work. And now, the very profession she had so coveted for her daughter had let her down.

Thanking the stranger for their message, she turned to no one in particular and harrumphed, "Oh never mind," and stomped back to her kitchen in a huff to carry on with the evening's work. Being Erzulie Festival week, the joint was jumping and there was much serving of food and drinks to be getting on with.

Camille stared at Richard who, in turn, held her gaze.

Emboldened by her mistake of a few moments ago, during which she had seemed downright pleased to be his date, Richard smiled and made a tentative suggestion.

"It seems such a shame to waste the evening. We both appear to have been stood up, so...how would you feel about being my date after all?" He smiled encouragingly at her, hoping he didn't sound either desperate or patronising.

As it happened, there was no need for concern; Camille beamed with pleasure. She hoped it wasn't too obvious, but she couldn't help herself. She had been taken by surprise at seeing Richard on the patio and believing that he was her date, and crestfallen when it transpired that he was not.

It was probably the first time that it really occurred to Camille that perhaps they could be in an actual relationship, especially if, as she had momentarily imagined, her own mother had sanctioned it. Of course, she had developed a crush on Richard already; actually it was more than just a crush, if the truth be told. There had been some teasing and flirting - mainly on her part, she had to admit - but he had seemed to enjoy it recently and often (although not always) even responded in return.

Richard, for his part, was jolted out of his emotional stupor the moment he saw Camille approach him, looking like a goddess that evening and assuming that they were to be each other's date. She had looked so radiant, she was glowing with - what was it - happiness, delight, pleasure? Emotions were a dangerous thing to him, damaged by a difficult past as he was, but unbeknownst to his conscious mind until just now, Richard Poole began to recognise that he had fallen in love with her.

The sixty four million dollar question now was, _what was he going to do about it?_ Oddly enough, the 'no fraternisation' rule didn't worry him much as he knew that the Commissioner would probably turn a blind eye and a deaf ear anyway. After all, he did not want to lose his Inspector with the phenomenal clear up rate, and Camille was almost like a niece to him.

Well, it's now or never, Richard told himself.

Camille's voice shook him out of his reverie. She was actually accepting his invitation for a date!

"Yes, please, that would be lovely," she said sweetly.

"Great, um...would you like to stay here or go somewhere else? If so, where would you like to go?" He was babbling ever so slightly with nerves, but it was either that or stuttering and stumbling over his words.

Camille didn't mind in the least. If she noticed at all, she found it endearing, and anyway, she was pretty nervous herself.

"Well, seeing as Maman is probably in a bit of a sulk about how things turned out, perhaps it would be good to go somewhere else? Mind you, being Erzulie week, it's going to be pretty lively everywhere, and there won't be any chance of finding anywhere unless it's a pretty casual place where everyone will be partying," she said somewhat apologetically. "It's up to you."

Richard would welcome not staying at La Kaz. He'd seen Catherine's slight scowl of displeasure at the disruption of her carefully laid plans, and at any rate he hardly wanted to be on a date with Camille under the beady eye of her own mother. But he took her point that finding anywhere that evening without prior arrangement would be a matter of just partying with the crowd, and he didn't really fancy that.

There did seem to be one possibility, however, but it could have been interpreted as too forward - for both of them, really. A compromise seemed in order.

"Um, you said you would like a cocktail earlier, so perhaps we could have a quick drink here now, and then..." He was lost for words. Inviting her back to his place, even just to sit quietly on the veranda and chat, seemed a tad impudent, but unless they were going to spend the evening at La Kaz, the only other alternative at such short notice seemed to be bar hopping or buying food from a stall and eating on the street.

Camille was agreeable; well, any time spent with Richard this evening was fine with her.

They found that it was just a tiny bit uncomfortable at La Kaz where it was very noisy (including Dwayne in full swing doing the Conga with friends) and where Catherine, although busy, couldn't help but notice her daughter with Richard. Camille sensed her mother's disappointment and steered Richard away as soon as they had drunk their cocktails - and rather more quickly than they would normally have done.

"Shall we just stroll through the town?" she suggested. "There will be lots of people around, but there will also be food stalls where we can get a little bite to eat, and maybe we can walk back along the beach where it will be quieter?"

Richard was amenable, not because he liked eating snack food from street vendors particularly, but because it afforded him the opportunity of having Camille to himself on this glorious date for, he hoped, the rest of the evening.

As they got further away from the throngs of revellers, and nearer to Richard's little house by the sea, they began to hold hands - later on, neither would be able to remember which one had initiated it - as they walked. Neither of them spoke much, even though it had been a fairly heavy day at work with quite an emotional outcome. The killers were people who, in their own view, had simply righted the terrible wrong that had been committed by their victim against their father and mother many years before, and Camille did have some sympathy with them, even if she did not condone the means or the murder.

Nevertheless, there would be time to talk about that another day. _This_ evening was for serenity and tenderness, and they both felt the atmosphere. Maybe it was Erzulie herself (Richard would have scoffed at that idea), maybe it was just the pleasure of new discoveries, but they were living in the moment and they loved it.

Reaching the shack at last, Richard led Camille gently by the hand and cupped her chin in his other hand. Looking into her eyes to be sure she wouldn't mind, he slowly bent down to kiss her and was thrilled when she in turn reached up to meet his lips and slide her arms around his neck.

"So this is what happens when there's a Love Festival, eh?" he asked, teasingly.

"Hmm," purred Camille. "Maman may have said a prayer to Erzulie, but I said one of my own."

 


	4. 'Lucy in the Sky With...Love'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on Episode 3 of Series 2.

 

"Goodnight, Lucy," purred Camille softly - and, Richard thought, altogether too seductively for his pulse rate - as she rather sensuously stroked his 'precision optical instrument' with the tips of her fingers.

"Goodnight, Camille," Richard replied, as he watched her slowly turn round to walk away.

Was it his imagination, or did she linger before saying 'goodnight', as if she had wanted to stay there for longer - maybe even for the rest of the evening? After all, he had been talking about the stars, and what woman could resist getting swept up into the romance of such a subject?

Something in his brain told him that he had precisely two seconds in which to call her back or lose her - well, for that evening, anyway. For once in his life, he acted on the desires of his heart and not on the dictates of his mind.

"Um...Camille...?"

Hearing him say her name had an instant effect on Camille and she stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face him.

"Yes?" she answered with a half smile, half questioning lift of her brow.

"I...uh...was...um...wondering if...you...would like to...um...maybe...spend a little more time here after all? I could show you how Lucy works, if you're interested? I mean...that is...if you haven't got something else to do?

"I know I was saying that the Valerie Dupree case is frustrating and, with the Commissioner breathing down my neck, I'll probably have to give everyone at Tipping's clinic their passports tomorrow, but I thought it would be nice to try and forget it for just a few hours tonight."

He hoped that didn't sound a bit strange, but the truth was that he liked the idea of having Camille's company for a while longer, and she had appeared to be in no hurry to leave anyway. Indeed, it seemed to him that she was taking her time about it, almost as if she were hoping he might ask her to stay on for a bit. Perhaps that was why she had asked him what he was doing for the rest of the evening?

Richard guessed correctly; Camille had been wishing he would be generous with his time and share his evening with her, and she accepted his belated invitation with enthusiasm.

"Great, let me get you a drink," he said happily. "What would you like? There's the usual coffee, tea, beer, wine, mineral water, tonic water, fruit juice..." he was starting to babble, such was the effect this remarkable woman had on his nervous system.

Camille gave a gentle little laugh and said smilingly, "Wine would be nice," then added with a hint of mischief, "perhaps a mature Rioja, if you have any? You know, to complement my advancing years....?"

"Now Camille," began Richard, "I was NOT calling you old, you must know that." He couldn't believe she would start that again.

Of course, by now she knew perfectly well what he had meant, despite his very unfortunate word choices _that_ afternoon, but she couldn't resist the temptation to tease him a bit longer.

"Well, as I recall, phrases like, 'left on the shelf', 'wonky eye' and 'broken leg', were mentioned, so...." she reminded him with a somewhat wicked grin.

"Look, you know I didn't mean....." Fortunately, he caught the glint in her eye and, realising that it was only a wind up, managed to stop before he had tied himself up in knots trying to explain, thereby digging himself a deeper hole.

He sighed and shook his head, muttering something like, "I don't know how I let you do this to me."

_And much more besides that I can't tell you about ...._

"Sorry," she answered, "I couldn't resist," and tittered some more.

"Ahem," he finally cleared his voice as authoritatively as he could, "I thought I was going to show you my telescope - "

"Oh!" interrupted Camille in mock horror, "isn't it a 'precision optical instrument'?"

Richard narrowed his eyes at her, giving her an imitation of a filthy look - the kind that usually made her giggle, not quake.

"Smart - " He shut up in time to avoid calling her a rude name which, even as a joke, might have put a dampener on the evening he was hoping to spend with her - that is, if she ever stopped giggling and teasing him.

Camille opened her mouth to retort, but then thought better of it as she, too, was hoping to encourage a different mood than one involving their customary bickering and banter - that could wait until they were back at work.

She looked down somewhat demurely - Richard regarded it as a bit coquettish, but not at all unappealing - and gave a little shrug of apology.

He simply shook his head and said, "Well, once it gets dark, we'll be able to look through Lucy, but it will be hard to see anything until then."

Going to his little kitchen and pouring Camille a glass of chilled white wine (not 'the house red') and getting himself a beer, he brought the drinks back out and gestured to her to take a seat.

When they had both sat down and made themselves comfortable, she asked him a little more about his interest in astronomy.

"Well, I told you my parents gave me Lucy for Christmas 1984, when I was 14; but my interest had really been ignited a few years earlier when they took me to Mme Tussaud's Wax Museum and then to the Planetarium next door."

"Was that in London?" Camille asked.

"Yes, in an area called 'Marylebone', quite near Baker Street - you know, of 'Sherlock Holmes' fame."

Camille was intrigued. "Wow, what a coincidence! And were you also interested in detective stories back then?

"Not that far back - I was only about nine or ten - but I was immediately enthralled by the Planetarium experience. Have you heard of Mme Tussaud?"

"Yes, of course. She was French, you know," boasted Camille, on behalf of her long deceased compatriot.

"Yeah, and she used to take the severed heads of guillotine victims and make wax models of them. Nice. Must make one kind of proud to be French, eh?" he smirked. He couldn't let that opportunity go to tease her in return.

"Okay, okay. Now, are you going to tell me about your first love, or are you going to keep on making cracks about the French?" She glared at him, but the corners of her eyes and mouth were creased in a way that connoted more playfulness than annoyance.

 Richard blinked hard. "What do you mean?" he asked sharply, his eyes widening.

Camille was puzzled; she thought she could detect a fleeting look of chagrin on his face.

"Astronomy," she re-iterated. "Wasn't that your first love?"

The pained look was quickly transformed into one of comprehension and relief, but Camille hadn't missed any of it. She wondered what secrets her boss may be harbouring beneath his stiff and proper exterior, and this air of mystery about him only served to intensify her fascination with him.

Richard recovered rapidly and said with rather forced jollity, "Oh yes, of course, I see what you mean," and gave a little half laugh.

"Well, back to our family visit. The Planetarium was a partially dome-shaped building right next to the Wax Museum, so straight after visiting Mme Tussaud's, we went there and sat in this auditorium with a high curved ceiling where they showed us a simulation of the night sky with all the stars and planets, and took us on a virtual tour through space. I was absolutely enchanted and have loved all things stellar and planetary ever since."

Camille found it extraordinary that this reserved Englishman should have such hidden layers to him. She thought it was like the skin of an onion, which he would gradually peel away one by one, revealing more of his sweet inner self as their relationship evolved and grew. Little did she know that before long she would discover even more, but, for the time being, this was what he was choosing to share.

"Do you think that's where your love of science came from, too?" she asked.

Richard thought about this. He'd always loved rudimentary scientific principles, he supposed, such as finding out why things fell to the ground and didn't simply float off into space; and he could recite his maths times table up to 12 by the age of seven. But outer space was more mysterious again, and held a sense of intrigue and glamour for him, not that he would have put it quite like that.

"Hmm, I think my love of science was increased and expanded by astronomy, but I suppose I've been interested in mathematical principles and chemical reactions and things like that for as long as I can remember, really. You know, how things work, or why you can count on certain things happening over and over again.

"I expect I progressed from wondering why, for example, the oceans and seas didn't drop off the earth to, say, what held the stars in space. And what else is out there, and so on. Some people take it further and start searching for the meaning of life - in a spiritual sense - when they contemplate the enormity and complexity of the universe, but I don't think I'd go that far."

"You mean...faith?"

"Yes, precisely."

"Such as voodoo?" Camille arched one eyebrow.

"Well, I was thinking more along the lines of traditional western religion, actually," he replied drily.

"Oh, you mean more like Church of England?" she countered.

"Or Roman Catholicism or Judaism, but you know, the more mainstream beliefs - "

"Yeah, okay, I get it," she sighed.

She was beginning to fear that the potential for romantic discovery would soon go pear shaped if they got into the kinds of esoteric discussions that would bring out Richard's more pedantic side.

Richard had the good grace to look humble. "Sorry," he smiled. "How about a refill?" he offered, changing the subject.

"Yes, please," answered Camille gratefully.

"The moon's visible and it'll be dark enough soon to see something through Lucy," he added.

"Is it true there are seas on the moon?" she asked. After all, someone seemed to have given them actual names.

"No," he explained, "that's a misconception. What they once thought were seas are only great big dust bowls, so to speak. There's no water on the moon."

"Oh," sighed Camille wistfully. "And I thought it was really made of green cheese, too..."

Richard opened his mouth to say something and then snorted; his beautiful friend wasn't _that_ daft.

She chuckled, and then beamed at him, the most captivating smile he had ever seen in his entire life. No celestial body could outshine that.

Studying her in the moonlight, Richard marvelled at her ethereal loveliness and - even more disconcerting - her quasi supernatural ability to reduce his heart to jelly. There was only one word that adequately expressed her effect on him: bewitching.

For all his factual, science-has-the-answers approach to life, he had to admit that there were some mysteries beyond even his reasoning powers.

He had called his telescope 'Lucy' after the famous Beatles song, 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds'. As Richard reflected on his choice of name, he found himself thinking how wonderful it would be if someday there could be a future with Camille in which diamonds featured for real.

Perhaps it was a little soon for that, in spite of their blossoming feelings for one another. Still, it wouldn't stop him reaching for the stars.

 


	5. 'The English Channel'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is based on Episode 4 of Series 2.

 

"Are they going to be doing that all afternoon?" asked Fidel. They were both getting a little bored with the antics of their Inspector and their Sergeant, as they watched the former still chasing the latter down the beach.

It had been funny at first, but Dwayne felt he had better things to do, and Fidel wouldn't have minded getting back to his wife and baby.

If Richard and Camille were simply going to fool around for the rest of the afternoon, it was going to get a little tedious for the boys.

"I'll tell you what, Fidel, let's fix this stupid television ourselves. I'll go back up on the roof and you let me know when you've got the right picture, okay?"

"Okay," agreed a relieved Fidel, "now that's a good idea."

 

Richard was virtually barking at Camille.

"I... _order_ you to...put my television back the way it was!"

"You what?!"

"I said, 'I _order_ you'!"

 "Oh, _you_ order _me_?! I suppose you want to ogle that Fiona Bruce?"

"I told you, _I do not ogle!!"_ He was incensed; she was making him sound like some sort of pervert. By now he was shaking his finger at her.

"Oh yes, I've seen you ogling!" came back the retort, arms waving wildly.

Well, it was true, wasn't it? That was seriously embarrassing, staring at the bikini clad witness's chest and blurting out 'breast' instead of 'vehicle'. There had also been the young woman with the generous assets at the Jacaranda Clinic....and the nymphets at Darryl Sexter's/Dexter's party.....

This was the best sport Camille had had in ages; splashing about in the surf and winding up her impossible English boss...her brilliant English boss...her unexpectedly kind-hearted boss....

"Okay, I'm sorry!" Actually, she was having too much fun frolicking and flirting. Maybe when she came out of the water and fixed his telly he'd finally forgive her and....

Richard reckoned he would have the upper hand in the end - after all, he was on dry land and she was in the water.

"You can't stay in there forever!" Ha, he'd got her! He wished........

 

"Left a bit, no, not quite so much....that's it! I think you've got it Dwayne, what do you think?" Fidel called up to Dwayne, who was on the roof of the shack as he had suggested.

"Hang on, I'll come down and have a look." He scrambled down in no time. For a man who was in his middle years - in body, if not in mind - he was surprisingly nimble.

Joining Fidel in front of Richard's TV, they saw the most reasonable picture they were likely to get in the circumstances. The main thing was, it was an English channel, so the Inspector should be happy.

'Antiques Roadshow' had finished and there was some other trivia on. They flicked through a few more channels and found BBC World News. The quality wasn't great, but the sound was good, so it would have to do.

 "Okay, Fidel," said Dwayne with determination, "let's tell the Chief, and we can both go home. I'm tired of hanging around while they cavort on the beach like a pair of teenagers."

Fidel smiled knowingly and answered, "Okay, you're right. Do you want me to go down and tell him?"

"No, I'll do it. 'Fact, I'll just shout to him from here."  

Next thing, Dwayne walked out onto the veranda and, waving broadly, called out to his boss on the beach below that the TV was sorted. Richard turned round with astonished delight at this announcement. He ran back up to the shack as fast as his brogues could carry him on the fluffy Caribbean sand.

"Oh cheers, Dwayne, Fidel, I appreciate that. Are you sure you don't want another beer - that must have been thirsty work?" Richard was grinning from ear to ear. A little taste of home at last.

"That's okay, Sir," answered Fidel first. "If you don't mind, Juliet could probably do with some company - and some help around the house too - as Rosie takes up so much of her time."

"Yes, Chief, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back too. I'm going out tonight, you know, gotta look cool for the ladies and all that...." explained the incorrigible party animal that was Dwayne.

"Yes, fine, no problem, thanks for putting my television right - very good of you," Richard answered gratefully.

Just then, Camille, who had noted his sudden departure from the beach, stuck her head through the door.

"What's going on? she asked, with guarded curiosity. They were police officers, after all, and her boss's rush back into his house could have signified some sort of emergency.

Richard turned to her and pronounced with exaggerated stuffiness, "Dwayne and Fidel have kindly fixed my television, reversing the horrors you inflicted."

She was about to tell him that the television hadn't been _broken_ , merely changed to different channels - _French_ speaking channels - but the look on his face made her think twice. He was hot and bothered from chasing her on the beach, though unfortunately not at all the kind of hot and bothered she would have preferred him to be.

"Well, we'll be off then, Sir," said Fidel, with his usual combination of friendliness and respect for his boss.

"Yeah, bye Chief, Camille," said Dwayne, glancing from one to the other, and adding, "good luck."

Camille assumed that the last comment was for her because Dwayne knew Richard was annoyed about the channel changing lark, and was wishing her luck in placating him.

In point of fact, Dwayne's parting shot was actually for Richard. Dwayne had become increasingly aware of the romantic tension building up between the pair and, with his experience of 'lovin' (even if not what one would call 'true love'), he could recognise it when a hapless victim was caught in the snares of an alluring - and determined - woman.

And Inspector Poole would soon be putty in the hands of a certain enchanting French siren, even if he didn't realise it yet.

 

Camille looked nervous. The boys had gone and she and Richard were alone. She knew she'd probably gone a bit too far with him, pushing the boundaries too hard. She remembered when she had told a witness not to push his luck, and she was afraid she may have done that herself. 

Richard was studiously ignoring her and concentrating on his newly acquired English speaking telly. She wasn't sure if he was ignoring her on purpose or whether he was simply engrossed in watching his little piece of Britain out there in that 'Godforsaken sweatbox'.

A pang of guilt stabbed her as it occurred to her that his longing to watch British programmes was probably his way of connecting with Blighty, albeit in a small way, and she had mocked it.

"I'm sorry, Sir," she said, in a contrite tone.

When he didn't answer, she continued, "I should have come out and changed your channels back sooner."

"You didn't change them back, Dwayne and Fidel did." His voice was flat and he seemed to be avoiding her gaze.

"Richard, I'm sorry. I should have realised how important it was to you to be able to have a piece of England here in your Sainte Marie home."

"Sainte Marie isn't my home," he retorted coldly.

His words stung Camille. They'd all done their best to make him welcome and she thought he'd been happier and more settled recently.

Seeing the look of hurt on her face, he softened a little. "Sorry," he mumbled.

She nodded her acceptance, and he added, "We seem to have a talent for miscommunication, don't we? Must be the cultural gap."

Although ready to excuse his previous remark, Camille was upset by this latest. Thinking he was insulting her background, she challenged him. "You're saying being Caribbean makes me culturally ignorant?"

Richard was shocked. "No, of course not!! I'm saying that you're French and I'm English, and as well as the obvious language differences, that gives us divergent cultural experiences and preferences."

"Yeah," she snapped, "you drink tea and wear a woollen suit and tie in a hot climate, and I take a slightly more relaxed approach to life."

"Exactly."

Close to tears now, Camille decided she couldn't stand any more, so she turned and headed for the veranda and the Defender that was parked in the shade.

Coming to his senses, Richard apologised. "Camille," he called to her as she was halfway out. She hesitated and he walked up to her. Still with her back to him, he said softly, "I'm sorry. Really."

She turned and faced him, eyes full of reproach. "Why do you always have to be so grumpy? It can't only be the heat. We're _all_ hot, but _we_ don't go around biting each other's heads off."

He looked remorseful. "I know. I just...need...a little...uh...time...to...um...come to...terms with...uh...you know, the...fact that I'm...um...I'm not going back...at least...you know...not for a while..." He let the sentence trail off.

 _How can I tell her that it's also_ _because she drives me mad, because she occupies my every waking and sleeping thought, because even when I look at other women, I'm seeing her, dreaming about her?_

"Oh yes, sorry. Do you miss home a lot?" Camille was doing her best to empathise with this complex Englishman and his strange little ways.

Richard, who had begun to slide into a kind of reverie, was momentarily caught off guard. His words tumbled out before he could filter them.

"Not so much any more, really, not with you."

Hearing her little gasp, he was suddenly jolted back to reality and the awareness of what he'd let slip. He tried to cover his gaffe, "Uh...I mean...it's...been good to...uh...have your...support...at work...you know....and...um all that. You know...kind of helps keep my mind off England, what?" His attempts at making light of his revelation touched Camille.

"Well, it's been good to have a detective like you to lead us. I don't think we'd have half the success rate we have without you; you're an example to us all, a leader we can admire and respect. Even if it doesn't always sound as if I do," she said with sincerity.

He smiled, a little twinkle appearing in his eyes, as he said, "That's very kind of you. I'm not sure I deserve that, but thank you." He felt shy and awkward again, but the tension between them was dissolving and they were both feeling more at ease.

"You do deserve it," Camille insisted, then added in a mildly playful tone, "most of the time."

Richard picked up on the lighter atmosphere, too. "When I'm not ogling, you mean?"

She blushed a little. "Sorry I said that. I know you don't, really....but that doesn't mean you don't appreciate attractive women..." Was she flirting again or trying to give him an out?

It was his turn to blush. "Well, maybe....I mean....I don't...I haven't...."

Camille came to his rescue. "I know, it doesn't matter. But you know," she ventured, "you don't have to live quite such a monastic existence....I...."

Richard stared hard at her. "You mean....you...?"

Her heart gave a little lurch."Mm hmm," she responded softly with a nod. She held out her hand and he took it.

Kissing it tenderly, he said, "Here's to the English Channel."

Leaning into him, she whispered, "You mean 'La Manche'."

 


	6. 'Aimee's Legacy'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is based on Episode 5 of Series 2.

 

As gestures go, it spoke volumes.

That Richard Poole, reserved, emotionally repressed and inexperienced with women, should be giving a lady flowers, let alone wild-grown and expensive orchids, had to be a measure of how much she meant to him. His words the other day had not been empty waffle, designed merely to offer temporary consolation or 'support'.

If anything proved to Camille that Richard loved her, this was it.

As they sat together looking out to sea, she reflected on how their relationship had begun to unfold and evolve, even over the few short days since Aimee's death.

 

After an awkward start with Richard on the day after her dear friend had been so cruelly taken before her very eyes, he had at last spoken to Camille's heart. All the earlier clumsy attempts by him to 'support' her had been forgiven after he had dropped the wearisome 'dog story' and had spoken from the heart. His heart.

"You know, when you care about someone...uh...sometimes its hard to...um...be eloquent, you know, about how you feel? Uh...to...to... tell them how much...they mean to you...meant to you...how important they are in your life, and how special."

The use of the present tense when he had said, 'mean' and 'are', had unmasked Richard's true feelings, and although it had been far too soon to take it in at the time, Camille had since been warming to the recognition of this very unexpected - but very revealing - declaration.

For there had sat Richard Poole, with his guard down, right in the sand, opening his heart to her. Of course he had genuinely wanted to comfort her over the loss of poor Aimee, but he had also been also letting her know - even if obliquely - that he loved her.

 

This day's offering of the beautiful bouquet was a statement as well as a gift: he cared for her, and he was showing it in the only way he knew how.

To Camille's mind, although undoubtedly a sweet gesture, it was actually almost unnecessary, for he had already given her the greatest gift of all in the circumstances. He had solved Aimee's murder and even granted her the satisfaction of placing the handcuffs on the killer.

At first misunderstanding and thinking his offering unwanted or unwelcome, Richard was reassured when she finally reached out for the flowers - and to him.

"I'm sorry when I said that you didn't have friends, because you know that - "

And, not surprisingly, the secretly sentimental - but highly reticent - Englishman was flustered, shyness and embarrassment once again returning to the fore. But the smile on his face revealed that he was pleased with her words and he didn't take much convincing to be persuaded to join her, sitting beside her again, albeit with his jacket for a cushion.

In spite of his stumbling protestations about 'mawkishness', the truth was that he _did_ value their friendship, that of his team and, most of all, his very special Sergeant. If only he had been honest with himself, he would have had to admit that he had been in love with her for some time.

Tentatively reaching out for Richard's hand, Camille was pleased to discover that he not only accepted her touch, but was holding her hand in return, and unconsciously stroking it with his fingers.

 She decided to be bold. Grief did that to you often; it could paradoxically dull your senses and heighten your emotions.

"How long have you known?" she asked him with gentle but forthright courage.

"Known what, exactly?" he asked softly in return.

"That you loved me?" she answered, with searing honesty.

Richard squirmed a bit uncomfortably before looking directly into Camille's eyes and finding only acceptance and a desire for genuine openness.

"Uh...I'm not sure...I..." It was very difficult for this buttoned-up Englishman, but he seemed to understand that this was one chance to allow himself to be vulnerable without fear of rejection or mockery, and he made an uncharacteristically quick decision to grasp it with both hands.

Realising that he would find it next to impossible to open up properly without reassurance, she boosted his confidence by declaring, "I have loved you for quite a while, Richard. Won't you please tell me how you feel?"

Relief and gratitude flooded him and he responded beautifully to her confession and her smile of gentle encouragement.

"I suppose it must have begun the night of the Erzulie Festival, when you came out onto your mother's patio, thinking I was your date. I'd never seen you like that before - you were not only stunning, you were radiant with a kind of inner glow - and I began to notice you in a different way, to see you in a different light after that."

Richard was frowning now, staring out to sea and concentrating hard, but finally willing to share with this special woman how he had come to the realisation that he had fallen in love with her.

"I'm afraid it wasn't until your friend died that the pieces really fell into place. They had been like parts of a mosaic, all jumbled up inside until I saw the depth of your grief, and it suddenly came home to me that _this person really matters_ _to me."_

"Life is very fragile, isn't it, Richard? Whether you are a person who approaches it from a primarily scientific standpoint or whether you are someone who lives more by intuition and/or faith, it all leads to the same end.

"We don't have much time here - at least not in these bodies, and I don't know what, or if, there is anything beyond - but with Aimee dying so young, life seems even more precious now. I want to grasp it with both hands; I don't want to look back with regrets, knowing that I had a chance of happiness or fulfilment and I let it pass me by."

Camille took a deep breath, hoping that Richard would take on board her meaning and that he would not step back. They had come so far already, and she wanted so badly to find a way for them to go forward - together.

Richard, for his part, seemed to recognise that he was at a crossroads. He could turn back and spend the remainder of his days as the unfulfilled, emotionally repressed and socially awkward man he had been up until now, or he could take a chance on life by accepting the lifeline she was offering. To his everlasting credit, he did the latter.

He had a vital question to ask her, but opted to go about it in an indirect way, still insecure and lacking in confidence in himself, and uncertain of her response.

"Um... do you know when Aimee's Memorial Service will be?" he inquired delicately. Until the body was officially released, there could not be an actual funeral, but there was to be a Service of Thanksgiving for her life.

A little surprised by his apparent changing of the subject, but nevertheless aware of his still unshed discomfort when it came to talking about matters of the heart, Camille smiled sadly in understanding. Nodding, she replied, "I think they are hoping to arrange it for next Friday. Will you come to it with me?"

Richard squeezed her hand and smiled sympathetically. "Yes, of course. Will Father Charles be taking the service?"

"Yes, and I think I'll probably be doing a reading - if I can manage it." Her eyes began to well up with emotion again as Richard put his arm around her and held her tight.

"Um...Camille....is faith important to you? " he ventured.

Camille looked up at him with a puzzled frown on her face and asked, "Do you mean, do I think Aimee's in heaven, or something like that?"

Richard hadn't quite thought of that. He tried to elaborate a little. "Well...I sort of meant more along the lines of....if something is important to you, say, like a funeral or a...ceremony...would you want it to be in church, whether it was Roman Catholic or Anglican or whatever?"

"I guess so....I suppose it would depend on what it was and who it was for. I believe people should be free to choose for themselves..." She really wasn't sure where this was going, but she answered his questions as best she could.

"Oh yes, of course....but I meant....if it was for you...?"

 "Are you asking if I would want to have a Christian burial? With a church service and all that?" She was becoming a tad fretful. Why was he apparently being so morbid?

Richard gave a little gasp, recoiling somewhat in horror at the very idea of Camille's dying. That was not what he had been driving at at all, but he found it so hard even to drop hints.

"Oh no, sorry, that's not what I meant at all. I meant a...a...much happier occasion." Oh dear, this was a little excruciating, a bit like pulling teeth. "Sorry I'm so lousy at this kind of thing." He hung his head somewhat dejectedly.

A ray of light was beginning to dawn in Camille's consciousness and, looking up and stroking his cheek, she said softly, "Do you mean like a wedding?"

Richard closed his eyes and nodded. "Hmm."

"Well, then...I suppose so...yes," came the reply.

Taking his courage in both hands for the first time since university (when the outcome had not been favourable for him), he carried on. "Do you think that's something you would...ever...consider?" He was trembling now, and Camille hugged him tighter.

Encouraged by this, he added, "I mean, of course, it's early days...but...when you...when you've found...you know....um...someone truly....special..."

The rest of his words failed him, but Camille understood and her heart seemed to burn within her.

Yes, it was early days in a way, but something told her that it wouldn't be long before they could know for sure. She loved Richard, and was pretty sure that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this unique English detective. Pedantic, reserved, awkward and obsessive he could be, but he was also caring, deep, sensitive and brilliant, and she knew she would almost certainly never want to be with anyone else.

"You're right, it is early days, but we can see where it takes us, can't we? I don't want to waste any more time on missed opportunities and if onlys...I love you, Richard Poole."

"I love you too, Camille."

It was the first time since that terrible incident that Camille felt some of the burden of pain lifting. She couldn't help but feel a little guilty at her new found happiness, and only wished that Aimee could have been there to share in it. Even in her gladness, she pondered ruefully how Richard might never have declared - or even discovered - his love for her, had it not been for the death of her lifelong friend.

Indeed, it was a bittersweet irony to Camille that one of the greatest joys of her life should be born of one of the deepest sorrows: the tragic loss of a beloved friend - and a talented life so sadly unfulfilled.

But Camille also believed that Aimee, in her generosity, would have been pleased for her, and perhaps this posthumous gift to her of a hopeful future with the man she loved would be Aimee's most enduring legacy.

 


	7. 'Just Desserts'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is based on Episode 6 of Series 2. (Apologies, this one's more of a stretch)

 

"So, you finally got Doug Anderson. How does it feel?" Camille was proud of her boss's achievements, especially in the face of such goading and bullying by the repulsive, murderous cop.

"Like maybe for the first time in his life, he's got what he deserves," came the subdued reply.

"Go on, allow yourself a 'happy dance'? A little cheer, a smile even? Be a 'happy Richard'," she pleaded, trying so hard to encourage him to glory in his victory. After all, the others in the team were also at La Kaz, doing their usual celebrating of the successful end of a case.

"Uh-uh," came the faux grumpy response, "'Sir' to you," with a little shake of the head. It might have sounded a touch harsh, but for the little wry smile of understanding that passed between them.

Yes, Richard had successfully - and impressively - got his man, but the emotional and psychological fallout in the immediate aftermath was beginning to take effect. Years of repressed pain and humiliation at the hands of one of the most despicable and corrupt police officers the Met had ever known, had come to the fore after many years and were exacting a heavy toll, even in victory.

No stranger to the sometimes bittersweet nature of enforcing the law, Camille began to more fully appreciate what a momentous and significant collar this was for him.

"Sorry about the 'happy dance' thing, Sir," she said quietly, by way of verbal olive branch, seating herself opposite him.

Richard smiled, "No need to call me 'Sir' really, Camille."

Camille smiled in return, reaching over to rest a hand gently on his arm. She was pleasantly surprised when he didn't pull away, but seemed to accept - even appreciate - the gesture.

"Would you like me to drive you back to your house soon?" she asked.

Richard looked at her and said gratefully, "Yes, please. I need a little down time, you know, somewhere quiet."

Camille did know; he often wanted to be by himself. At other times she had considered it rather antisocial, but on this occasion, she understood. This had been, for Richard, the most personally stressful of all their cases and, true to his nature, he was not punching the air with his fist, either literally or metaphorically.

Richard bid a quick goodbye to Dwayne, Fidel and Catherine, who were still chatting happily at the bar, Dwayne also showing off the new kitten he'd got as a consolation present for Estelle. Strangely, Richard had been almost phobic in his aversion to it.

He and Camille then climbed into the Defender and headed off to the beach shack, making the journey in comparative silence. When they arrived, Richard realised he had been somewhat tight-lipped about the Anderson arrest and, fearing that Camille might have been a bit hurt or offended, he invited her in for a soft drink in an effort to make amends.

Pouring her a fruit juice and himself a beer, they sat down on his veranda as they had done many times before. Looking out to sea, Richard spoke first.

"I'm sorry I wasn't very sociable this evening; I...um...found it a bit difficult...you know...raking up the past and...all that. Anderson always managed to find the right things to say to make me clam up. Funnily enough, I was never actually afraid of him, I simply never seemed to have the right words as a comeback to his snide remarks.

"But he was wrong about my never having had a girlfriend; I just didn't happen to have one at the time to 'parade' in front of 'the boys' at Croy - " He suddenly became aware of having strayed into deeply personal territory before he could censor himself, confiding things to Camille that he would have preferred not to.

However, he needn't have worried, for Camille was kind and sympathetic.

"I never doubted it, Richard. Of course, you would have had girlfriends. He was only trying to wind you up - to say anything to unsettle you. He was obviously hoping to manipulate or intimidate you into effectively handing over the investigation to him so that he could orchestrate the cover up himself."

Richard sighed. "I know. Back in London, he used to try out different types of insults or jibes, presumably hoping that at least one or more would hit home. And all because I didn't want to hang out with him, to be 'one of the boys', as he put it."

"I bet it was more than that," observed Camille perceptively. "I reckon a man like that knows he's not really very clever or good at his job, so he attempts to hide it by being the office buffoon, full of bluff and bluster. He probably felt threatened by you - by your intelligence and your diligence - and belittling you was the only way he knew how to cope with those feelings of inferiority."

"Yeah, he was also pretty lazy and didn't like the way I was prepared to work hard when all he wanted was an easy ride and a cushy life. That's why he was so easy to bribe, and how he developed a drinking problem as well, always down at the pub."

"Well, you can forget about him forever now, Richard. He'll go away for life, and I doubt he'll ever see the light of day again, not with those charges."

"I know. It should be a good feeling, and in a way I suppose it is but, you know, it's going to take a while to completely decompress from it...from him," he admitted.

Feeling slightly emboldened by Richard's willingness to open up a little, Camille added, "You know, we never believed any of those things he said. And I'm sorry that we weren't more supportive of you at first. We let cold examination of the timeline evidence override our knowledge of you. We should have trusted your instincts and listened to your gut feelings."

"Well, I'm always saying not to put too much store by 'feelings'. But you were right that for ages I had no evidence to back up my theory that he was somehow responsible or involved - oh no, we're talking about him again."

"Okay, from now on let's forget him for good. I just wanted you to know that we are completely behind you, and we trust and respect you, even if sometimes it takes us a while to catch up to you."

Richard looked at her and smiled. "Thank you." He reached out for her hand and gave it a little light squeeze.

"Um...can I ask you a personal question?" ventured Camille.

Richard stiffened a little. _What on earth is she going to ask me? Haven't I had enough embarrassment these last few days?_

He looked at her like a rabbit caught in headlights. "Why? What do you want to know?"

Camille took a deep breath. "Do you ever miss not having a girlfriend now?"

Richard was nonplussed. He suspected she might ask him something along those lines, but the way she was watching him unnerved him.

He shrugged in resignation. "I try not to think about it, if you must know. I know you occasionally accuse me of ogling, but I honestly don't look at women with salacious intent. I have more respect for you all than that. I just sometimes...can't help noticing - "

"I know that, Richard. And if I'm honest....um...I guess sometimes I've felt a little...well...." Camille bit her lip.

Richard studied her and raised his eyebrows. "Yes?" he asked, attempting to encourage her. He secretly hoped she'd say she felt a little......no, that was ridiculous.

She shrugged. "You know...a little...jealous," she answered, blushing.

"Camille, you are so far out of my league, there is absolutely no need to - "

"I'm NOT 'out of your league', as you put it! I... _care_ for you. I thought you knew that."

"Well," he said, trembling a bit, "I know you like me..."

"Come on, Richard, you must know it's more than that."

For the first time in his life, Richard Poole dared to believe that a beautiful, intelligent, exciting woman like Camille Bordey might actually want to be with him. He was stunned.

"Camille....I....don't know what to say....," his voice quavered with emotion.

She leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. Her eyes seemed to be requesting something, some words of encouragement or endearment.

"Tell me how you feel?"

He looked down shyly. "I...um..." As usual, he was tongue-tied and bashful. "Look, do you mind if I get myself a cup of tea? Would you like one, or perhaps another soft drink?"

As a distraction technique, it was only partially effective. It may have distracted him (sort of), but it didn't deflect Camille. But it did give him the opportunity to mentally re-group, to gather his thoughts and the heady new emotions that were swirling around in his recently psychologically overloaded brain.

Camille smiled knowingly, exhaling rather loudly. "No thanks, I'm fine." And then, as an afterthought, she asked, "Are you sure you wouldn't like something a bit stronger?"

Richard thought she had a point. He got another beer out of the fridge instead, and sat down again.

The way she was continuing to gaze at Richard was disconcerting him, so he finally said, "Camille, I know you've been dying all evening to probe into my private life. What is it you really want to know?" _Not that I'm promising to tell you._

_Oh God, what do I say? How can I let him know all those feelings I've had to hide for so long? And if I do, will he believe me? Will he reject me?_

Camille knew what a hard nut he was to crack. Somewhere, somehow, someone had hurt him and he was not going to be coaxed out of his shell easily.

"Um...do you think you could ever...want...someone...like...me - I mean, as a girlfriend?" she asked bravely.

"Oh, yes," he responded, more enthusiastically than he meant to. He turned pink again.

Camille beamed with delight and relief.

"Please let us - me - get closer to you more often. I know that life hasn't been very easy for you, and therefore it doesn't come naturally for you to share your feelings, but I care about you so much. I know you know that, so please let me in, Richard. I would never hurt or humiliate you."

He rewarded her with his famous lopsided smile. "Thank you, Camille. I do know that, actually. I...uh...have a few issues with trust, as you've probably noticed," he said a little ruefully.

Camille slid off her chair and onto her knees in front of him. "Oh Richard, I promise you can trust me. I'll always have your best interests at heart, and I'll always have your back."

He smiled and tenderly brushed her chin with his fingers.

"Isn't getting down on bended knee supposed to be the man's job?" he asked playfully, with one eyebrow arched and a twinkle in his eyes.

Camille gasped. "Are you - ?"

"Well," came the reply, "let's just say it might be something to consider one day, perhaps? It's probably best not to rush these things, of course." He was grinning at her.

She squealed with pleasure and anticipation.

"Oh, I love you, Richard!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

"I love you too, Camille. And you know, I don't think it's only Doug Anderson who'll get what he deserves. I like to think we will, too."

 


	8. 'The Tempest'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is based on Episode 7 of series 2.

 

Outside, the wind was howling and the rain was lashing, but the atmosphere indoors at the university's meteorology department's weather station was surprisingly serene.

Trapped there with Camille because of the impending hurricane, Richard had been in a rare emotionally open mood with her.

As he looked away from his book and back at the dozing figure of Camille, he finally began processing one or two things she had said a few short minutes before. He let his mind wander back to the warmth in her eyes and to the most welcoming words he had heard from a woman in an extremely long time.

"But you don't have to any more...you have  _me_." And all he had managed to do was look surprised and embarrassed. The fleeting expression of hope was on and off his face in about a second and a half, and then the bumbling idiot had returned. Hopeful, and then embarrassed for having been hopeful. And, most of all, embarrassed for letting it show.

His analytical side now went to work. If there was one mystery worth solving, it was most definitely the mystery of Camille - and of where they stood with each other.

He told himself she must only have meant it in the context of work; they were a good team and they did solve those puzzling murder mysteries together - but the boys were an integral part of that team, too.

"I like it when you're just...human." So, she had excused him his millionth moment of awkwardness.

_Then what, oh what, did she really mean?? If only I could understand a woman's mind._

_Maybe I should wake her up and ask her - now that really would be pathetic, Poole._

He thought about their conversation some more. Okay, what else had Camille said?

"Can you keep a secret?...I quite like it....and _this_ was nice."

So, she liked my talking about myself - and even about Dad, he realised.

_But perhaps I shouldn't have told her about his being disappointed in me; what if it gives her ideas?_

_I wonder if she would really come for a weekend in Clacton, though? And in a caravan??_

_Oh, who are you kidding, Essex is hardly the Caribbean. And didn't she call British holidays 'depressing'?!_

_Face it Poole, you've got Sweet F A to offer a woman like that, and next to no chance of finding out anyway_. Richard hung his head in sad and weary resignation.

Just then, he felt the little makeshift bed move as Camille stirred. Rolling onto her back and squinting in the candlelight, she looked up at him.

"You're still awake? Are you alright?" she both smiled and frowned at him.

"Oh, sorry! Did I disturb you? Is the light bothering you, I mean?" He was a bit jumpy, almost as if he imagined she had been able to read his thoughts in her sleep.

"No, no, I wasn't really asleep. I was just dozing on and off and I noticed the candles are still burning and you're still sitting up," answered Camille. "You're not worrying about the hurricane, by any chance, are you?" she added with a cheeky smile.

Richard rolled his eyes. "Very funny. I told you, I'm not worried about a bit of wind and rain. We English are made of sterner stuff than that." Mock indignation animated the features of his face in the glow of the candle.

"Mm, and that gash on your temple seems to bear witness to that," she chuckled softly, with a slight touch of irony. "Maybe we should take you to the hospital tomorrow, you know, have them check you over, just in case there are any signs of concussion?" She was doing that impossible, playful, teasing thing that he found so maddening and so...well, _so..._

"Was there something on your mind, Camille?" he sighed loudly.

"No, I just thought there might be something on _your_ mind, since you're the one who's still wide awake and sitting up. Aren't you tired yet?"

 _How does she always manage to do that,_   _turn_ _the tables on me_ _?_

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am tired now," he replied flatly.

"Then why aren't you lying down and getting some sleep? You said there's a lot to do in the morning, once the storm has passed."

Frustration - of many a kind - and fatigue had begun to erode his defences.

"If you must know, Camille, I was trying to figure out what you meant when you said that I didn't have to be alone with my puzzles any more because, and I quote, 'you have me,'" he answered with exasperation and a certain defiance. And then he realised what he'd done.

 _Oh shit! Why did I say that?!_ He wanted the earth to swallow him up. Perhaps 'Irma' would arrange it for him.

Camille turned onto her side facing him, one arm bent, with her hand propping up her head. She smiled knowingly, but with kindness.

 _So finally, my chance to let him know how I feel while he's in a receptive mood_.

Gathering her thoughts - and definitely not wanting to frighten him off - she spoke with that mixture of tenderness and seductiveness that only she could pull off.

"Because...I would like it if you wanted to spend some of your spare time with me, and not just all by yourself, reading or doing crosswords and jigsaw puzzles."

The lopsided half-smile made another appearance. "Oh, I see..." he responded a bit shyly. "Um...do you mean...like...um...liming?"

Of course, he was hoping for more, but it wouldn't do to be too presumptuous, particularly in the light of the evening's earlier 'discomfort'.

Camille smiled and shook her head. When would this painfully repressed Englishman finally loosen up a bit and say what he really meant, share how he really felt? He had made a start a little earlier on, to be fair, but he seemed to be back pedalling somewhat now.

She decided to take a chance which, given the circumstances and what had passed between them already, was not unreasonable.

"Well, liming is part of it I suppose, but you have already started doing that with Dwayne and Fidel and me, I'm glad to say. I guess I was thinking more about...um...sort of...just 'us' time...you know, you and me...?" Camille bit her lip nervously.

Richard was gratified - and pleased - to discover that he wasn't the only one to get the attack of romantic jitters, but he still needed convincing that she meant what he hoped she meant.

"Sorry...um...could you...kind of...clarify that for me a bit?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, I mean, you sort of seemed to be...laughing at me straight after you said that thing about my having _you_ now, so I thought you were...um...making a little joke at my expense again."

Camille looked down. "Oh, sorry. I wasn't, actually. I expect I was feeling a little...um...self-conscious...thinking I had said the wrong thing."

Richard was astonished. "So...if I really were to...invite you to spend a... weekend...or whatever....with me...um...in, say, Clacton...or wherever...does that mean you would...um...accept? I mean...caravans are...um...quite...ahem...confined..."

"You're not trying to tell me you're going back to England, are you?" Camille asked with sudden alarm.

"No!...Of course not...I...it was...you know...just an example..."

She smiled with relief. "Oh, I see. Well then, I would say, 'yes.'"

"'Yes', you'd spend...um...a...well, um...you know, maybe not a whole weekend...uh huh...but?"

 _Mon Dieu, I really_   _do need to spell it out for him, don't I?_

"Richard, I'm saying that I would like to spend more time alone with you, and not only having a beer on your veranda, or discussing one of our cases."

"Oh. You mean like a...a...sort of...date?" He blushed as he spoke, which Camille found quite endearing.

"Yes," she affirmed, clearly nodding her head.

Richard swallowed hard. "Wow." _Great lines you've got there, Poole. No wonder the ladies are queuing up for you. Not._

"'Wow'? Is that good?"

"Yeah, great. Thanks." He was smiling like a schoolboy who's just been told by the girl he's had a crush on for ages that she'll go to the ice cream parlour with him.

His eyes darted to and fro as he searched for inspiration from the deepest recesses of his memory.

"So, what happens now?" _My God, I am seriously out of practice with all this._

Camille smiled coyly. "Well, I believe it is customary for the boy to ask the girl out."

Richard flushed an interesting shade of cerise. "Oh yes, of course, sorry. Um...do you think...I mean...is there any chance of a little...um...kiss...first?"

His new girlfriend giggled. Arching her eyebrows and giving him an impish look, she replied, "Just a little one?"

Finally no longer needing any further encouragement, he lowered himself into the mirror image position of Camille so that he was facing her with his head resting on his arm, opposite her. Smiling shyly, he then leant forward, cupped her chin in his other hand, and kissed her - gently and somewhat tentatively at first, then with a degree of passion that took her by surprise.

"Richard Poole," she teased him playfully, "you've been hiding your light under a bushel!"

"I beg your pardon?! Where did you learn that expression, Mademoiselle Bordey? And please don't tell me, 'Sunday school'."

"In Paris, of course," she replied archly.

"I'm sorry I asked." Richard didn't think he wanted to know any more.

"Haha, just kidding! One of my English teachers used to say that to encourage us to speak up."

Mollified, Richard rolled onto his back, gently pulling Camille close to him so that she lay beside him with her head resting on his chest.

"Just think, if the storm hadn't marooned us here, this might never have happened," he mused.

"It's like Prospero and Miranda in 'The Tempest'," enthused Camille.

"Except that I am most certainly _not_ your father," he exclaimed. "And I have to confess to having some less than paternal feelings towards you. Do you mind?"

Nuzzling his neck, she purred, "Why would I mind?" Then a tad more seriously, she asked, "Am I allowed to ask what your feelings _are_  towards me, Richard?"

He sighed. "If I don't confess voluntarily, I expect you'll end up extracting it from me anyway, won't you?" He was smiling, though, as he spoke.

Fixing her with one of his spine-tingling looks, he confessed. "Je t'aime, Camille."

Richard seemed to imagine that such intimate disclosures uttered in a foreign language would lessen the impact - and therefore the potential embarrassment factor - to him.

The impact on Camille, however, was definitely not less, of course. After all, it was her language.

And now it was her turn to be astonished, but she answered him in kind. "Moi aussi, Richard. Je t'aime."

Then, noticing that it was surprisingly quiet outdoors for a hurricane, Camille added, "Perhaps you were right after all; maybe it isn't a big storm. I think we could call her, 'Irma La Douce'."

"Now, why does that name sound familiar?" asked Richard.

"You'd probably rather not know," giggled Camille, snuggling closer to him before lifting her face to his for another - even longer - kiss.

 


	9. 'Back to the Future'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is based on Episode 8 of Series 2.

 

" _You won't come back, will you?"_

Camille's question was still ringing in Richard's ears when he landed at London Heathrow, and all the way to his hotel, after handing over murder and embezzlement suspect, Vicky Woodward, to SOCA. But even more disconcerting had been the look of pained challenge on her face and the tears in her eyes, just barely held at bay.

Richard was confused. He had been so thrilled at the prospect of a few days back home where he could not only re-acquaint himself with all things English, particularly the tea, but also find respite from the interminable heat and sand and insects and...

But what about Camille? Come to think of it, he was pretty fond of the irrepressible Dwayne and the hard working, faithful Fidel (how perfectly his name suited him), too. But, of course, Camille was in a class of her own; he had never in his life met a woman who so challenged, excited and exasperated him and who, by the same token, brought out his tender, (secretly) romantic side.

A few minor dalliances (if you could call them that), otherwise only Sasha Reid at Cambridge had come close to evoking such deep passion within him, and the whole university seemed to know how badly that had turned out.

Although the Commissioner had clearly told him it was only to be for a few days - just until Friday - Richard couldn't help but wonder whether this might also turn out to be a permanent thing. After all, as he'd so insensitively pointed out to Camille, staying in Sainte Marie hadn't been 'part of the plan' either. So perhaps this was a step back to the Met?

He could hear the old adage, 'be careful what you wish for...', beginning to echo in his head. For so long he had wished to go back to London, but now that he was here, he began to ponder more what he would lose than what he would gain by staying.

Helping himself to a drink from the mini bar, he began to take stock of his life. Provided this wasn't a Met/Patterson plot to lure him back to London, then he would be back in Paradise before you could say, 'lost luggage'.

                               _______________________________

 

The minutes were ticking past and Camille was beginning to feel a rising panic in her heart.

 _Was Richard really coming back after his few days in London, or wasn't_ _he?_

The fear that he might not return had hung like a cloud over the whole trio all week long, but for Camille the wait had been more agonising. She finally admitted it to herself: she was in love with the occasionally cranky, often generous, but always brilliant detective from the Met, and the possibility of his staying on in London for good was almost too painful to bear.

_I hope he doesn't mind the little party here, or the 'Welcome Back' banner._

Camille knew what a curmudgeon Richard could be, even when people were just trying to be nice to him. She was a little worried that, if he was returning reluctantly, he might resent the reminder that the little decorations and hanging lights presented. But when her Maman offered to help with putting them up in a corner of La Kaz, she couldn't resist.

 _Even if_ he _doesn't want to celebrate his coming back to Sainte Marie,_ I _do._

It reminded her a bit of the lyrics from that song in 'West Side Story', where Anita sings about her boyfriend, Bernardo, as she waits for him:

 

_He'll walk in hot and tired, poor dear_

_Don't matter if he's tired - as long as he's here_

_Tonight..._

 

And then the longed for miracle happened. Sort of.

_"...they've lost my luggage - again...!!"_

Never before had she been so glad to hear that familiar rant. Dwayne raised his glass of beer in amused resignation, Fidel smiled in happy relief, and as for Camille - well, this was her future here. She knew it now, all she had to do was to convince Richard....

"It's good to have you back." The breadth of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes as she spoke those words of welcome began to melt her boss's heart at last and, rant over, he calmed down even further when Catherine brought him a cup of tea with proper milk and sugar, just the way he liked it.

It never ceased to amaze others how the English could want a hot drink when they themselves were feeling hot, but clearly they were a strange people. But what she had once regarded with somewhat amused disdain, Camille now found to be endearing.

After some questions about how things went in London regarding the prisoner exchange, and some polite enquiries about Richard's family back in England, the boys made their excuses and left him alone with Camille.

"You must be tired after your long journey. I'm sorry they had to cap it off with losing your luggage. I'm sure that between us all, we could find you some essentials until you can buy more here, or your bag turns up."

Richard, although still slightly grumpy, nevertheless appreciated the offer.

"Thanks, Camille. The Commissioner did promise to look into it first thing tomorrow morning," he replied, adding, "I think he was afraid I'd fly off again and never come back if it doesn't get sorted." He gave an ironic little laugh.

Seeing the look on Camille's face again - far too reminiscent of the look that had haunted him throughout his brief sojourn in London - he said, "Only joking, of course."

Reassured, she rewarded him with one of her beautiful smiles, eyes all velvet brown and twinkling. "Shall I drive you back soon?" she asked him.

"Oh, that would be good, if you don't mind. I really need to crash out."

They climbed into the Defender and drove off, spending the drive to his beach house in relative silence. Delighted as she was to see him again, Camille understood that this was not an occasion for chattering.

When they got to the shack, Richard turned to her and smiled wearily. "Thanks for that, and for the nice welcome. You know me, not really one for parties, but that was sweet. I've never felt very appreciated by work colleagues before." Fatigue and secret pleasure at being back amongst the only true friends Richard had had in decades was loosening his lips.

Something in her gaze seemed to stop him in his tracks and he took another look at her. "You look very...um...ahem...pretty tonight, Camille." Then, naturally, he blushed.

Flashing him yet another dazzling smile, Camille replied, "Wow, thanks, Richard. It's not like you to notice things like that." And then she blushed, too.

"Well...um...I...couldn't help...you know...I mean...that's...um...a very...nice...dress...you're wearing." He finally got the words out.

Camille giggled. "Oh Richard, that's so sweet." And then a touch more seriously, she admitted, "I'm so glad you came back."

As he started to open his mouth in protest, she continued, "I know you said you would but...well, to be honest...you did sound a bit uncertain and...frankly, so glad to be going that I wondered if you wouldn't just stay on there if you got the slightest chance."

Richard hoped the guilt he felt in his heart was not written all over his face. Because it _was_ something he had briefly contemplated.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Look, I know it's late and I must admit I am a bit shattered, but won't you come in for just a quick drink before you go home? It seems a bit daft to keep on talking out here."

Camille accepted readily. She was a bit surprised that he should invite her in when he was so obviously tired, but she thought she could sense a desire on his part to open up a bit, something for which she had been longing for many a day...and night.....

As they sat on his veranda cradling a bottle of beer each, Richard spoke first.

"How were things while I was away? The Commissioner said you all did an impressive job. Well done."

Camille wondered if he'd invited her in just to say that, but she let him continue.

"I...um...have to confess...ahem...that it was...um...a bit...that it felt strange being in London without my...um...you know, um...partner in crime....hehe..."

_Why do I always have to be so tongue-tied with Camille? She'll start to think I have a speech impediment soon._

But the latter just smiled, replying "We missed you too, Richard," then ventured, " _I_ missed you."

Richard was pleasantly surprised. "Really?" he replied with raised eyebrows and an expression of hope in his eyes.

Camille nodded. "It wasn't the same here without you. Just as Fidel said it wouldn't be."

"Not the same without my ranting, eh?" Richard attempted humour to cover up his shyness.

"Well, that is true," answered Camille with a chuckle, "but seriously, you're the best leader we've ever had and we felt sort of...lost...without you." She bit her lip.

_Doesn't he realise what I'm trying to tell him?_

Richard sighed. He sensed that she was trying to tell him something, and that if only he could read between the lines properly, he'd understand. Fatigued after the long journey, and weary from arguing with airport staff again over his misplaced suitcase, he was a shade less robust in his emotional defence mechanisms.

"And you're the best partner _I've_ ever had. I mean - "

"Even if I am a little too intuitive at times and not scientific enough in my deductions?" She was teasing him slightly, but he didn't appear to notice.

"Nothing wrong with intuition and instinct so long as that's not all a police officer relies on or bases their theories on."

She chuckled a bit. "Remember when you told us that we don't solve cases by dancing naked around a fire? You were really going that time."

"You really got me going - that time and many others." Richard then realised what he'd said and turned beetroot. "Um...I mean...professionally, of course...ahem...sorry, I didn't mean that to sound the way it came out," he coughed.

Camille raised an eyebrow, answering a bit cheekily, "I don't mind. Perhaps that's what I was trying to do."

"Camille..."

_How does she manage to look so seductive all the time? I swear I won't get any sleep tonight now._

"Sorry. I don't mean I was trying to upset you or make you angry, honestly."

Richard forgave her instantly. _Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound..._

"I know, that's okay. It was true anyway," he confessed.

"What do you mean?"

He smiled lopsidedly. "Why do you think I came back? As it happens, I could have stayed on because someone at Croydon is retiring, but..."

Camille's heart began to thump. "You mean - "

Richard reached for her hand. "Camille, I left my past behind in London and came back hoping to find my...um...future, if that makes sense. If...um...you'd...want - " He was looking at her earnestly.

By far the more demonstrative and impetuous, Camille threw her arms around him and replied, "Yes, I do!"

Richard held her, wondering inwardly whether those three little words might one day be uttered in an even better context.

So, in spite of the heat and sand and all, he knew he was back for good.

 


	10. 'The A-Team'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is loosely based on Episode 1 of Series 3. 
> 
> It doesn't really belong here, but a) someone asked nicely; and b) Richard deserved better.

 

"I say we go and rescue the Chief. We know he didn't want to go to this reunion party. And it's quiet here at the moment anyway, isn't it?" Dwayne was convinced they should go.

Camille had to agree that Richard had definitely not been looking forward to meeting up with the four old friends from his alma mater. In fact, it seemed to her that it had been more than merely not wanting to socialise - Richard had actually appeared to be dreading it somehow, but he had been vague about it, and she couldn't work out the reason why.

_Maybe he feels self-conscious that he hasn't had an 'exciting' life to talk about?_

No, he was bothered about something far more important - and serious.

"I don't know, Dwayne," replied Fidel. "I'm not sure he'd welcome our turning up uninvited just because he doesn't enjoy parties."

"We could say there's been an emergency...that we've found his sense of humour," Dwayne suggested cheekily.

"Oh, funny." Although Camille didn't reckon it a good idea to go in search of Richard either, she was becoming increasingly concerned for him the more she thought about it.

"Let's toss a coin. Heads we go and get him, tails we stay here. And if we do show up and he doesn't want or need us, we can just make some excuse and tactfully leave," insisted Dwayne.

"Like what?" asked Fidel.

"I don't know. Maybe we could pretend we'd got called out to a burglary or something and just got the wrong house by mistake?"

"Yeah, I suppose we could...." mused Camille.

"But?" Dwayne raised his eyebrows at her. He thought it strange that she seemed reluctant to interfere, considering she was often nosy and impertinent with the Chief. This convinced him all the more that there was something potentially serious afoot, and he was anxious to get going and find his boss.

"What if he gets cross with us - and goes on one of his rants? I don't want to annoy him at the moment," answered Camille. It occurred to the boys that her last three words suggested that at another time she would be quite happy to do it - just not today, for some reason.

 _I wonder if they've had an argument about it?_ thought Dwayne, as he and Fidel exchanged glances.

It was a reasonable guess. Camille remembered her conversation with Richard just that morning:

 

"But why won't you at least let me drive you there, Richard?"

"No, really, I'd just prefer to get a taxi, thanks all the same," he had replied. He'd needed to be alone with his thoughts and Camille was simply too much of a distraction. A very _big_ distraction as it happened, and not one he needed at that time.

"Richard, I know you're worried about something; you've been pre-occupied for the last few days, ever since you met that group here. Why won't you tell me what it is? I'm your best friend, for pity's sake," she'd pleaded with him.

"Camille, I know you mean well, but I can't talk about it yet. There's something...I just don't know...I need to see the photos..." His voice had trailed off, his mind evidently veering off into another dimension.

 

So, she had respected his need for privacy (virtual secrecy, in her opinion) and let it go. It was _his_ life and she wasn't his keeper. She'd sighed with resignation and a degree of sadness. Things had been going from strength to strength since his return from London, and she'd hoped that before long there would be tangible developments on the romantic front.

 _I_   _feel like we're back to square one. He's distancing himself from me and I feel like I'm losing what little bit of him I had._

"Well, there's no point just sitting here talking about it all afternoon. Either we go or we don't, but let's decide," said Fidel sensibly.

"Flip a coin?" Dwayne suggested again.

"No, let's just go." Camille suddenly felt very pro-active and thought that if Richard was in trouble, she'd never forgive herself if she let anything happen to him.

"You're on!" enthused Dwayne.

Scrambling into the Defender, they then drove up the hillside leading to the luxury holiday villas, and searched for the right one. Fortunately, Camille had managed to wheedle the name out of a worn-down Richard just before he'd departed, so they at least knew what to look for.

As they turned into the drive of the relevant house, they could hear a bit of a ruckus. Jumping out of the car, Camille instinctively began to race toward the villa, closely followed by Fidel, then Dwayne. She could hear a woman screaming, and a man yelling, but the latter's voice sounded slightly muffled.

What she witnessed would be forever imprinted on her psyche.

An attractive brunette was on the veranda, wildly waving an ice-pick about, and tussling with a screaming blonde, the weaker of the two. Richard was by now trying to help the latter, and two other men were scuffling.

"Quick, Roger, get the ice-pick off of her!" the blonde woman was screeching.

"No, you don't," boomed Roger, obviously addressing - and wrestling with - the other man, who appeared to be attempting to intervene between the two women.

"Sasha's just tried to kill Richard!" shrieked the blonde.

Tearing through the house, Camille reached the group and essentially flew at the woman called Sasha. Kick-boxing her, she had to restrain herself from treating the startled Richard to a demonstration of the kind of fisticuffs with which she had once threatened _him_ , as she easily overpowered the struggling woman, knocking the weapon down, while the blonde kicked it out of reach. Camille then slapped handcuffs onto the snarling brunette and shoved her onto one of the chairs.

She then rushed back to Richard and, after making sure he was unhurt, almost squeezed the life out of him in a near frantic embrace. Angela, the blonde, was whimpering Richard's name, but Camille wouldn't let her near him. Richard was _hers_ , as far as Camille was concerned, and even Angela's undeniable heroics couldn't persuade Camille to let her get close to him now.

The boys, meanwhile, had come to Roger's aid, prising the other man off of him and cuffing him.

"Thanks," said Roger, "can you look after Angela now, please?"

More police arrived within 10 minutes, and Sasha and her husband, James, were arrested and carted off to a police station in a neighbouring town. With Sasha considered at risk of life and limb from an incandescent Camille, it was thought wise not to incarcerate them in the Honore cells.

Statements were duly taken from Angela and Roger, and in due course they were praised for their courage and released. Richard thanked them warmly in person, but privately hoped he'd never have to see them again, a realistic wish if the culprits pleaded guilty.

Dropping the boys off at the station, Camille then drove Richard to hospital where he had to be officially checked by a police-approved medical team.

"You're a lucky man, Inspector. If your other friends hadn't intervened when they did, and your colleagues hadn't come to the rescue when _they_ did, we might have been looking at a different outcome."

Richard closed his eyes in brief recollection of the horrid events. "I know, doctor. I should have listened to my team and let at least one of them hover nearby, but I didn't think I'd be in actual physical danger. I underestimated absolutely _everybody_ in this fiasco."

Discharged after a fairly quick physical examination, the doctor warned Richard of the requirement for a psychological evaluation as well. Richard groaned but, as a stickler for the rules himself, he accepted it.

Camille remained in the waiting area, and insisted on driving him back to his beach house. Richard agreed, acknowledging that it was the least he could do. He knew he owed her an explanation.

They drove in silence and when they arrived, he invited her in.

"Thank you for everything, Camille. Please come in, and I'll do my best to explain."

Ensconced on his veranda with their ubiquitous bottles of beer, Richard began to open up.....

 

"I'm sorry I was so guarded about it. It somehow didn't feel right to say anything until I was sure, and to begin with, I didn't really know what it was that felt wrong. I knew something didn't fit, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Mum's photos would have proved it to me, but fingerprint evidence will nail it forensically."

"And she knew you were onto her because of that book, 'Le Rouge et le Noir'?"

"Yes, but in English they call it, 'Scarlet and Black'. Remember, my house, my rules," teased Richard. "Just because you saved my life doesn't mean you can speak French in my house."

Camille playfully flicked beer at him. "Hey, it's a _French_  classic, and your friend, Sasha, would have read it in French too, so there."

"Alright, you win this round. Seriously, though, thank you for being there. I don't really deserve your loyalty, Camille." He looked remorseful.

"Stop that, Richard! You have the right to a private life. I know I have a tendency to pry - "

Richard smirked, interrupting her, "Surely not?!"

"Ohhkaay, but you know what I mean." She bit her lip, uncertain whether to say more, but ventured, "I guess I may have been...um...a bit...well...jealous." She winced a bit, embarrassed by her admission.

Richard look amazed - and pleased. "Really?! Do you mean when I said there were two women in the group?"

Camille nodded. "I spotted you with them in the market the other day and thought you were attracted to Sasha/Helen. She was very pretty..." She stared wistfully out to sea.

Richard smiled indulgently. "Camille, even if she'd been the real Sasha, and available, that ship sailed decades ago. I'm not interested in anyone but - " He blushed when he realised what he'd probably just revealed.

Camille stared at him. Her eyes were shining as she asked him to go on.

Sighing, he answered with a shy smile, "Haven't you guessed? I suppose I've tried to hide it, but..."

"You have feelings for me?" asked Camille with great hope.

"Yes, but a vibrant young woman like you wouldn't want a curmudgeon like me - even if being English does make me quite a catch," he added jokingly.

"But Richard, I _do_ want you!" she protested.

 He smiled bashfully. "Enough to be happy if I stayed on Sainte Marie - forever?"

"Yes!! And...um...do you think...um...I could....?" She looked at him for confirmation.

"Stay with me? Yes, please. Forever, if you'll have me."

"I'll never let you go!" came the answer, as Camille wrapped her arms - and then the rest of herself - around him for the embrace of a lifetime.

 

Later that evening, as everyone celebrated at La Kaz, Dwayne proposed a toast.

"To the best Chief ever! Long may he stay." Cries of 'hear, hear' resounded.

"Oh, he's staying alright," Richard answered with a twinkle, and looked at Camille. "And thank you so much for finding me. I gather it was mainly your idea, Dwayne."

Dwayne shrugged modestly. "It was a team effort."

"'Dream team', perhaps?" suggested Camille.

"Yes, you're the best team anyone could ever wish for. A+," Richard replied, with feeling.

"We've got your back, Chief. We could never lose you; you're our leader and we're 'The A-Team'! You know, 'One for All and All for One'?"

"That's 'The Four Musketeers'," corrected Camille.

"Whatever it is, we're it," Fidel joined in.

"Well said," agreed Richard. "To us." They all clinked glasses.

"'I love it when a plan comes together'," quoted a grinning Dwayne. The others groaned.

Looking at his wonderful colleagues and friends, particularly the stunning beauty who had - by some extraordinary miracle - become so much more, Richard Poole knew that he was a lucky man.

A very lucky man indeed.

 


End file.
